On the wings of Ravens
by RevenantOmega
Summary: We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly. Some say death can never be born, but he is proof they are wrong.


Insomnia

Believe it or not, there are some things that must simply be accepted

The stone paving was cracked, the rats living on top side bringing their plagues with them. He never understood why the rats loved him so much. They would come out of shadows to curl at his feet, whispering their tales of lies and deceit. But rats were not the only ones - ravens would coe their song as he passed. They would sing tales of death and murder. They muttered the same verse before chanting in unison:

Hear me, O Death, whose empire unconfin'd extends to mortal tribes of ev'ry kind. On thee, the portion of our time depends, whose absence lengthens life, whose presence ends it.

By this time he knew he was crazy. He had to be, unless he was the whisperer of rats and ravens alike. There's always one special Raven - it wouldn't chant or sing but would speak. He sat at the park bench waiting eagerly for his only friend. In the beat of a heart it materialised, squirming on its perch until it had reached comfort. They sat in silence today, as he had nothing to say.

"There is a certain beauty to the silences that two can share together, Marcus." The Raven whispered into his ear, its breath mistakenly human but its words ghostly, as if it was a breath from an unknown entity, a voice from the void, a shadow in the door frame, a silhouette in the back of long lost photograph.

"Who told you that, Rezon?" He asked the Raven. Rezon cackled at the comment - the bird liked to think it was a philosopher spouting out words of wisdom and inspiration.

"They're coming." It flew off leaving a pale faced husk sitting on the park bench, eyes devote of feeling. Glancing around, eyes of red stared from the bushes. Frightened, Marcus' hands stabbed into his pocket so hard that it almost tore. His fingers tightened around the bone shaped pen, and he got up and ran. The howls of the beasts tore through their quarters, and wolves raced over the pavement. Marcus fell, tripping over the stone curb and spinning on his back. In an act of desperation, he waved his hand at the wolf. A horde of rats instantly swarmed from the sewers, devouring the wolf like locusts of the night. Not wanting to wait around for the rats to turn on him, he ran. Running deeper into the mutating , ever-changing city - New York.

Wolves chased him through the streets, but people didn't care. They didn't want to help. They couldn't help. They never did. They never tried. All the police saw was a teenage boy running from ghosts. He ducked into an alleyway hiding behind a green dumpster. In the shadows he waited in silence. The light was gone, and in the dark… he was safe. Outside of it, he was dead. The umbra of the shadows was his friend. It would protect him in its motherly shroud.

The wolves passed the alley. Marcus sighed in relief upon knowing they were gone. It still wasn't safe to leave, though, as dangers lurked around every corner.

He sighed, then he heard something. A footstep. A boot. It hit the puddle beside him, and the boy tensed on the spot, frozen in terror. A man in a black suit with red glowing eyes looked directly at him from above. For a second Marcus thought he had finally met his end, but the man cautiously stepped forward, moving a little further down the alley.

"I know you are here...I can feel it. I can not see or smell you. But I know that you are here, mongrel!" Came a voice as it resonated in every direction, drilling the words into his skull.

Marcus held his breath, his forehead moist from the cold droplets of sweat. Not wanting to be discovered, he prayed to God that he would be spared.

"Your heart beats the blood of a God. Be thankful - I've found you first, and if you surrender, I would make it quick and easy for you… no pain, no suffering." The man's voice sounded sincere yet sinister at the same time, finding the perfect balance between intimidation and kindness. Marcus felt the shadows pull at his body, tugging him from behind like a child smothering its doll. He stumbled back, lost his balance, and he plummeted into the depths.

Falling through the shadows, Marcus seemed to had lost track of time. In a second, he was under a tree, an oak tree to be precise. What had just happened? Was he dead, did he pass out, or had he somehow shifted between worlds? He stood up, pulling out the pen and examining its features. It wasn't like your regular ball point pen - its designs were grim and forsaken. It looked like a sickly combination of bones with the top resembling a demon's skull, yet, somehow, it felt a little too realistic to be something from a dollar shop.

Marcus felt the heavy beating of wings from behind. Wind slashed through the grass like the manifestation of blades. It swept from overhead like an eagle soaring through the clouds, a ruler among the feeble creatures that were bound to the ground. Without a single sound it landed claiming its place among the earth as well as the clouds. For a second there, Marcus felt as if his body wasn't his own, and instead it was like he watching through a frameless window. The body gripped the pen with both hands, and in one swift motion it was pulled apart.

For the first time, a faded white smoothed grip apparated within his hands. The pommel was carved with a collection of skulls. The curvature of the handle led to a black crescent blade with the souls of the lost absorbed within the faces. Its texture was smooth and icy to the hands of its bearer, luring people to run their finger along the surface.

Marcus' body was making commands once more. Swinging it with expertise, he twirled it around with unmatched skill. He chopped the blade into the dirt without hesitation and looked up with determined eyes. Pulling the hood over his head, he charged towards the griffin. The scythe scraped across the grass creating frost in its wake. Raising it above his head like an executioner, he brought it down with a crushing blow.

***Kudos to my collaborator Nocturnal Night without you I couldn't have done this***


End file.
